The Citadel
Metal spikes made from blue glass and silver are unhooked –
pierced inside shop entrances when closed
like dystopian fly- traps laid out to deter the homeless;
Shopping mall and arcade are pitched and layered
in stolen quilts, tents, and corners of toy cardboard.
Between the thin cracks when the elevator rests
I hear a dead blues singer and her rasping tones
filtering through corners like light on flash white algae;
Towers in settler red and gold paint a self-portrait of this city
Finger prints are used to milk tongues in clear digital chloroform.
Outside the diner I see an angel of disparity
walking in green squares – her eyes are like a mad bear
chained at a circus; A sign attached around her head that reads…
‘No WIFI, Just Smiles and Good Conversation…….’
A Starbucks beaker swirls in the bleached sun shining of dimes and quarters
where bodies are armed with designer shoes that step over empty cat litter trays;
I look onto a world as a stranger in a very familiar and unequal land –
Enforcement officers in lap-top black eat chilli-dogs
monitoring the latest headcount at Camp Hooverville –
Now let’s move them on and make space at the Citadel.
>
Love and Cinema
Colour of her face changed
when the moon draw obsidian shapes
across her skin; head outlined in oval
like a pencil sketch made without any paper.
Could she scream and feel the convulsion of light
inside of her? That impossible inclination
that love was an imaginary scene –
audio textures taken from a film;
She closed her tin box of bitter resentments –
Placing them inside her embroidered
yellow pocket for an hour
she only ever came alive when the darkness filled the auditorium;
When impenetrable light was banished to the foyer;
It was only then that she could watch herself fall in love all over again.
>
The People Who Live Inside
The men we knew as children
once fought imaginary witches on the high street
Now they’ve succumbed to the hibernating of a petition signer –
Scoffing on winter- berry and prosecco hand cooked crisps
served up with quinoa oatmeal and a strawberry infused cappuccino breath;
They listened to the metal wings at night as a star of light filtering
on paths of telephoning drones; Slowing down their flight by throwing
sharp rocks of envious proclamations that lobotomised thoughts
into jars suckled on the ink from fingers – just another tick for the men
who carry knifes; an opening for light to shine and give life back to the elevation of life.
>
An American Breakfast
After returning to the subtle sound of traffic
I reflected on journeys from cradle of liberty
to the widening crack in Liberty Bell;
I drank a straw of Bukowski’s Blood
in a velvet bar full of rain; Fed myself up on cheesesteaks
suckled on the dew from an ancient Oyster Bis,
(made from the freshest of fish brains.)
I ate waffles with cream and jalapeno for breakfast
then watched the Citgo sign of Boston switch back on –
where Duke and Billie Holiday once sang and performed.
Skin floats between chrome towers a stub of fresh blood;
Vampires on Wall Street step over sleeping bodies
like dried cum stains on bathroom floors –
Flesh is cold and some are still warm and twitching.
>
Knowing the Enemy
When you take the journey on long tilted steps;
always remember to look back and see
where footprints rest and tired lungs slept;
Feel inside the eye as an aerial beacon
a drone with a soul covered with skin
the eye to an eagle that scans the blueness;
on new paths and challenges it brings
Enemies will reveal their envy
like some new human hidden illness –
those who you once thought of as very close friends
will disrupt the momentum of the path that you are taking;
The heart will recover from such minor indispositions –
on a journey towards fulfilment and reaching the final goal.